


It's Not a Problem (Until It Is)

by Mintoki



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Big Brother Dick Grayson, Body Image, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Insecurity, Introspection, Overworking, Tim Drake-centric, Weight Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-21
Updated: 2019-01-26
Packaged: 2019-10-14 05:47:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17502770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mintoki/pseuds/Mintoki
Summary: The weight accumulates over a matter of months however the shame hits Tim all at once.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Does this comply with canon? No, probably not. Do I care? No probably not.
> 
> (Okay that's a lie I care but this is DC so I'm not gonna lose sleep over it if it doesn't) 
> 
> This is highkey a vent fic btw so I really just projected some of my issues onto my favorite character and ran with it, hence the ending. If people want it I might add a second chapter/part to this to offer some more resolution to make this more of a hurt/comfort fic but as of right now this is complete. I just had to get some feelings out and I thought I'd post it
> 
> Please comment what you think! I'd love to hear it :)

Tim has always been the smallest Robin, never quite having the height and definition that Dick and Jason found in their teen years. Even now, despite being five years younger than him, Damian has surpassed him in height. It’s not surprising really; he’s definitely inherited his father’s build and will likely rival the man himself once he’s full-grown. Tim’s not embarrassed about his height though. There’s nothing he can do about the genes Jack and Janet Drake passed down to him.

It’s a startling realization, then, when one day Tim’s pants don’t quite seem to fit properly. He’s pulling on his pair of tuxedo pants in preparation for a gala and no matter how hard he tries, they won’t button. He’s never had this problem with clothing before. In fact, more often than not, Tim had to make sure that his clothes didn’t fall off his small frame.

He debates rubberbanding his trousers. After all, his tuxedo jacket would cover the display and it’s a little short notice to go out and purchase a new pair of pants. Bruce’s charity gala starts in two hours and he knows skipping is not an option. However, Tim quickly shakes this thought from his head. The fabric would still much too tight around his thighs. Not only would the young man personally be uncomfortable the entire night, but the awkward fit of his clothing would be apparent to anyone who even glanced at him that evening.

_“Always dress to impress, Timothy. If you dress like a slob you will be perceived as a slob; it doesn’t matter if you are or not, that’s what you will be known as. In this world, other people’s perceptions are more important than your reality. Do you understand, Timothy?”_ The words from his mother, uttered as she cleaned a ketchup stain off his dress shirt all those years ago, still ring clear in his head.

With a sigh, Tim resigns himself to wearing his nicest business suit--a timeless black three-piece--which he knows will be considered too casual for the event. He doesn’t really have much of a choice at this point. He tugs off his tux and hangs it back on a hanger, despite the fact he won’t be wearing it anytime soon.

Tim takes one last glance in the mirror before he leaves his room and can’t help but notice the hollowness beginning to form in his chest.

 

* * *

 

The night goes as well as can be expected. None of the attendees question why he’s so underdressed, though Tim imagines the gossip that’s probably being exchanged between old women in hushed tones. Whispers of how _“Unpresentable that Drake boy is”_ and _“Isn’t he supposed to be the disciplined one?”_  

It’s actually a little unsettling how none of his family approach him after the event and ask him about his attire that evening. Well, more accurately he’s surprised that neither Dick nor Damian approach him. Bruce is way too awkward to ask him anything remotely personal, especially if he can get the same information from Alfred.

Damian though, Damian should definitely be taking advantage of the situation to push some of his buttons. While Tim and the younger boy are definitely on better terms, they still find ways to get under each other’s skin. And so when Tim makes it all the way to his bedroom without a word from anyone, it just causes this whole feeling of wrongness to grow.

Once alone, Tim wastes no time stripping down to his boxers. He stands in front of a mirror and for the first time in months gets a proper look at himself.

He’s gained weight; there’s no denying that. If he had to give an estimate, he would say he’s gained at least twenty pounds since the last time he checked. His thighs and stomach seem to be the most affected areas. His waist is certainly thicker, and he’s begun to develop love handles.

It doesn’t take much thinking to find the cause for the gain. Approximately three months back Tim had shattered his ankle and subsequently been benched for at least six weeks. He still helped out in the Batcave, doing research and helping Oracle manage the comms during patrol. He wasn’t out in the field. Even when he had finally been cleared for physical activity, there hadn’t been much of a reason for Red Robin to go out. All of Batman’s major adversaries were secure in Arkham for the time being. Accordingly, Tim reasoned that his skills were best utilized at home since Gotham didn’t particularly need three heroes running around to stop run of the mill muggings.

Tim hadn’t changed any part of his routine to accommodate this new semi-sedentary lifestyle though. He still ate the same amount as before, never quite thinking about how his lack of exercise would affect him. In fact, even as he packed on the pounds he remained oblivious.

With the realization comes a flood of unadulterated shame. He’s a vigilante. He’s not supposed to be _fat._ As he is now, he doubts that his Red Robin costume would fit properly. Right now he’s about as useful a crime fighter as Joker is a funny comedian.  

Tim pinches various areas of his body, disgusted with himself. How could he let himself get this bad? He was supposed to be observant. What kind of idiot didn’t realize how badly they were letting themselves go? He doubted Dick would let himself get this bad.

The thought causes him to freeze. His family. There was no way they hadn’t noticed his weight gain. Alfred most definitely already had; who else would replace his old wardrobe with clothing that would fit him currently? The rest of the family had to have inevitably caught on as well. After all, Tim was naturally small and now he’s, well, not.

Unprompted, the memory of Damian calling him “Tiny Tim” last week comes to mind. At the time, Tim had rolled his eyes thinking the jab was one at his height. Upon reevaluation though, the smack and glare that Dick gave Damian might have held more meaning than a simple “play nice”.

It’s knowing that his family knows that causes the tears to well in his eyes. If only he had worked harder, not slacked off so much, he wouldn’t be in this situation. How could he call himself a hero if he couldn’t even properly take care of himself. It doesn’t help that his mother’s lessons about self-care and appearance run through his head at the same time. He’s such a disappointment. Bruce is probably embarrassed of having to introduce him as the future owner of Wayne Enterprises.

And so Tim’s thoughts continue. He lets himself sob, though makes sure to keep them quiet enough that no one will hear. He knows that he’s going to lose the weight, he doesn’t really have a choice. No matter what though, he’ll know about his failure.

 

* * *

 

That night, he sneaks down to the Batcave. As expected, his costume doesn’t fit.

 

* * *

 

Just as Tim vowed, he loses the weight. He had been slacking on his training regimen and so he redoubles his effort. He watches his diet a bit more carefully, and before long he’s dropped almost, if not everything he gained originally. This discovery does nothing to relieve him though.

_This is the minimum that should be expected of you. You can’t let yourself slip again._

Tim is always itching for patrol now. He feels like he’s thirteen again, desperately waiting for the day Bruce would officially let him out as Robin. Whenever he can, Tim volunteers for missions when he probably wouldn’t have before and every time he’s forced to stay behind and run surveillance he feels a stab of panic.

On those nights Tim makes sure to get as much time in on the treadmill as possible before the others get back.

 

* * *

 

Tim’s not fat anymore. He knows that. But the way he sees himself is forever changed. He might be skinny and healthy _now_ but one slip up could send him back to square one. He can’t disappoint his family. Not again.

He’ll work hard and he’ll be worthy. He’ll be someone they can be proud of, or at least someone who won’t embarrass them.

And so if he has to decline going to the carnival with his siblings or turn down participating in family movie nights in favor of working out in his room, so be it.

Gaining more weight means gaining more shame, and Tim has enough of that already.  


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's only when Damian approaches Dick that he questions the third Robin’s health.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I wrote another chapter! I honestly didn't think I'd get this done so quickly, but I guess I was inspired? It didn't come out quite as I imagined but I think I got most of what I wanted out
> 
> Originally, this section was going to be from Tim's perspective as well but as soon as I started Dick just made me do it his way lol 
> 
> I hope ya'll enjoy!

Dick keeps a close eye on Tim. Despite the fact that he splits his time between Gotham and Blüdhaven, his greatest priority will always be his loved ones. He notices his brother isolating himself from the rest of the family, working from dawn to dusk without a hint of slowing down. Tim constantly gives apologetic smiles as he politely avoids interacting with anyone outside of missions.

This doesn’t worry Dick though. Even as the bags under Tim’s eyes grow darker and his body becomes increasingly exhausted, Dick stays level headed. As much as he hates it, he knows that Tim is a hard worker and it’s impossible to stop him once he’s set his mind on something. The teen’s injury a few months back might have slowed him down for a time, but now he’s back and working just as hard as ever, almost as if to make up for lost time. Tim’s smart though, and Dick trusts him to know his limits.

And so it’s only when Damian approaches Dick that he questions the third Robin’s health.

“Grayson, we need to talk about Drake.” Damian appears next to Dick one morning, seemingly out of nowhere. 

“Ah, good morning to you too Little D.” Dick swallows the eggs in his mouth and then chases it with some orange juice. “Wanna sit down?” 

“That is unnecessary as this should be brief. I think you should check in on Drake. I do not think that he has been resting an appropriate amount.” 

“I knew you had a soft spot for him.” Dick teases, revelling in the way his youngest brother crosses his arms and turns his head in a borderline pout.

“Tt. Don’t mistake this for concern. If this situation is not rectified, it could negatively affect me and father and I do not wish to be injured due to his carelessness.”

“Carelessness? What do you mean by that?” At this Dick turns from his plate, giving his full attention to Damian. Tim could be considered many things, but careless was not one of them. In fact, he was probably the most meticulous Robin when it came to planning both before, during, and even after missions. To hear the word in connection with Tim was odd to say the least.

“Drake constantly shows up to patrol exhausted. While he has not made any major mistakes, I have noticed he that he has become slower. Just last night, he was nicked by the knife of a common mugger, someone he was undoubtedly more skilled than in every way. I do not think father has noticed, however I do not want Drake to jeopardize our safety or make father worry should he let himself get more severely injured.”

“That’s not like Tim at all…”

“Exactly, which is why you must converse with him so that he ceases his foolishness.”

“I definitely will Little D. Thanks for the heads up.” He shoots a small grin at Damian as he makes a move to ruffle his hair. The boy dodges, but seems pleased by the gesture all the same. “Here, why don’t you eat some breakfast while I go talk to Tim.”

Damian lets out a huff, but takes a seat which Dick takes to mean he’s complying with his suggestion. As his one brother sits, Dick makes his way to another. It’s still early and so he assumes that Tim is still in his room. He hopes that his spur of the moment visit won’t interrupt his brother should he be sleeping, but if Damian’s testimony can be trusted, Tim probably won’t be resting anyway.

As Dick approaches Tim’s door, he hears movement from within, confirming his prior assumption. He hesitates for a brief moment before knocking. Why was he getting so nervous about this? It’s just Tim.

Maybe that’s why though. This is Tim he’s going to be talking to. He’s never really had to have conversations about the teen’s wellbeing since he’s always been so self sufficient. Even as a thirteen year old, he seemed to have everything under control. 

“Who is it?” Tim’s voice calls out and Dick can just _hear_ the exhaustion in it.

“You mean you can’t tell just by my knock?” Dick jokes, a laugh punctuating his sentence.

“What do you want Dick?”

“Can I come in?” There’s a slight pause before a response comes.

“Sure, just give me a second. I’m, uh, not decent.” Dick raises an eyebrow at that, but stays silent until Tim’s call of “Okay I’m good” allows him to enter.

Tim is sitting on his bed donning a pair of black sweatpants and a gray shirt that is darkened with sweat in some spots. Dick decides not to comment on the fact that the sweat means Tim was obviously lying about getting changed earlier. He can’t help but wonder what he _was_ doing though.

“Hey Timmy,” The old nickname rolls off his tongue as he sets himself down next to Tim. “How’re you doing?”

“I’m good… is there any reason you decided to make an 8 A.M. bed call?”

“What? I can’t just check up on you?”

“You can, but that’s obviously not why you’re here.” Dick sighs. His nerves must have been more obvious than he initially thought.

“Well I mean it’s partially why I’m here…” Dick isn’t quite sure how he wants to jump into his line of questioning. He knows he needs to be purposeful in his approach but also doesn’t want to come off as hostile.

“Well thank you for that, but I have a lot of work to do today and I’d really like to get a jump on it. I’m doing fine, just really busy. So if you wouldn’t mind…?” Despite his obvious tiredness, Tim seems restless. His leg is bouncing slightly and he keeps fidgeting with his fingers.

“That’s the other thing I’m here to talk about: how much you’ve been working.” Dick places a hand on his brother’s leg, hoping to steady it. He doesn’t miss how his brother tenses slightly at the contact. “Damian told me he’s been worried about you.”

“Really? Damian said that?” Tim raises his eyebrows in incredulous questioning.

“Not his exact phrasing, but that was the jist of it. He said you got hit by a knife last night?”

“It’s really not a big deal Dick, nothing any of us haven’t dealt with before.”

“I know, but I can’t help but be worried. I know that you’ve been doing a lot lately and you should rest. Maybe you should take a little break from patrolling for a little bit.”

“No!” Tim’s response is more emphatic than Dick expected. The teen himself seems shocked as well, though he quickly recomposes himself. “I mean, no I don’t think that will be necessary.”

“Tim, you’ve been working really hard. I don’t think anyone would fault you for taking a night, a week--hell, even a month off the field." 

“That’s nice of you to offer, but really I don’t need that. I was just a little distracted last night, that’s all.”

“You’ve been distracted for a while it seems. You never hang out with any of us anymore and when I do see you, you’re always nose deep in paperwork or training down in the Cave. You’ve always been a workaholic but I don’t think it’s ever gotten this bad before. A couple of months ago you seemed fine and so I just want to know what happened.” While he was talking, Dick moved his hand from Tim’s thigh to instead wrap around his shoulders.

“I… nothing happened Dick. I just realized I had been slacking in my work and that I needed to put more effort in.”

“You weren’t slacking. You were taking care of Wayne Enterprises and doing a lot of base operations work. Most importantly you were so happy-”

“But you guys weren’t.” Tim’s grumbles and pushes himself out from under Dick’s arm.

“What on earth makes you say that?”

“I mean, you guys might’ve been happy in general, but not with my situation.” Dick furrows his eyebrows, completely confused. What on earth could his brother have been talking about?

“We weren’t happy that you broke your ankle? Well of course not, but we didn’t hold that against you or anything. We were more than happy to help you out with that.”

“Not when I broke my ankle. I’m talking about, well, after that…” Tim has proceeded to scoot away from Dick and hunch in on himself, making his already small frame appear even smaller.

 _‘After that…?’ That’s so vague. I have no idea what even happened after Tim broke his ankle. He was on bedrest for a while and then after that he worked on intel gathering and communications. He wasn’t out in the field at all since he was recovering and retraining his body._  

“We wouldn’t have expected you to go out after that.” Dick says in an attempt to placate his brother. Surprisingly, this only seems to make things worse as Tim squeezes his arms closer to himself.

“That’s the problem. You didn’t expect it from me because I literally, physically couldn’t, even if you wanted me to.”

And _oh._ The pieces start coming together in his mind. Tim gaining weight had been something Dick had noticed, but he hadn’t paid it any mind. The teen had seemed content staying behind, always making clever quips on the comms and in good spirits when the rest of the family returned home. Damian might have made a few comments about Tim’s weight to him in private, but Dick hadn’t paid much mind to them besides telling the youngest not to tease Tim about it.

Looking back, Dick realized that the Red Robin suit probably wouldn’t have fit had Tim wanted to go out, but he never actively kept the teen from trying to don it. Even if he might’ve nudged Tim towards staying back, it was only because he saw how comfortable and relaxed he was with the arrangement.

“Tim, you know that I--as well as the rest of the family--only ever want you to be happy.”

“I know, but I wasn’t. Not when I realized how disappointed I was making you all. You guys were out there, saving cities and I- I couldn’t even help if I wanted to.” Dick chances scooting closer to Tim again and tentatively places a hand on his shoulder. “Even if we take vigilantism out of the equation, I was still in no position to let myself get that bad. I’m Bruce Wayne’s heir; I have to keep myself from acting in a way that would reflect badly on him.”

Dick isn’t sure how to respond to that because as loathe as he is to admit it, there’s truth in the statement. Gotham socialites were notorious for how critical they were. Bruce didn’t personally care about things like appearance, but Gotham sure did. He decides to relate as much to Tim.

“Bruce doesn’t care about that sort of thing. _I_ don’t care about stuff like that.” He moves his hand to run it through Tim’s hair.

“I just want you guys to be proud of me.” Tim’s voice hitches and his shoulders begin to shake. There aren’t any tears yet, but Dick knows that’s only because his brother is trying to suppress them. Without another thought he embraces Tim, one hand circling around his back and the other continuing to comb through his hair.

“We already are. Tim, we all are _so_ proud of you. You don’t need to prove yourself to us at all; you just have to take care of yourself. We worry about you.” At the words Tim’s sobbing increases. Dick shushes him as he holds them for the next couple of minutes. The room is silent save for a few hiccups. 

Once Tim is done, he pulls away and makes to wipe at his eyes with his hand. 

“I’m sorry.” He sniffles.

“Don’t apologize.”

“It’s just so hard. I know that you guys care about me, _I know that._ But the thought of letting you all down… it just overrides everything. If I work hard and do my jobs right--all of them--then I have proof that you guys have something to be proud of.”

“You don’t always have to be Red Robin, protector of Gotham or Timothy Drake, heir of Bruce Wayne. Sometimes being just Tim is enough. I’m just as proud of Red Robin, the crime fighting badass as I am of Tim, the boy who loves photography and dumb sci-fi movies. Do you understand what I’m saying?” Tim nods and Dick smiles. “I’m sure you’re tired. Why don’t you go to bed?”

“I can’t go to bed at 8, everyone else is getting up to get stuff done.” Tim argues.

“Yes but those people got at least a solid five to six hours of shut eye as opposed to your…?”

 “... One and a half…” Tim offers reluctantly.

“Exactly. Now why don’t you change into some clean clothes and get at least another two, okay?” Dick pats his brother’s leg and gets up to leave. “I’ll make sure that Alfred doesn’t let you anywhere near a computer until then, capiche?”

“Of course.” And right before Dick completely exits the room. “And Dick? ...Thank you for coming to talk with me.”

“It was the least I could do. Don’t hesitate to come to me for anything.”

 

* * *

  
As time passes, Tim begins to join the family more and loosen up. He accepts offers to go out and have fun more often and becomes more open.The amount of pride that wells in Dick’s chest when seeks him out to talk is immeasurable. Whether Tim approaches him in the mansion’s kitchen or simply shoots him a text asking if he can call, it’s progress.

Of course things aren’t perfect. One night Tim declines playing board games with the family, citing a research paper due in two days as an excuse. When Dick goes to check up on him an hour later, he finds Tim doing crunches. He has a few variety of weights out as well, their positions suggesting they had been used recently. 

“Some days I just can’t help it, Dick.” Tim confesses. “And I don’t want to bother you all the time. I don’t know if you can understand but…”

“I understand, but I still want to help you no matter the time and place. Well, maybe not if I’m like, getting my ass handed to me by a villain. In that case, I expect you to help me out and _then_ we can talk.” That gets a laugh out of Tim and so Dick marks it as a win in his book.

So yeah, things aren’t perfect, but they’re getting better. And so if Tim can get a full night’s rest even just one night of the week, Dick will continue doing what he can. He’s no expert in this stuff, but he’ll try his best.

After all, that’s what big brothers are for.


End file.
